Hart of the Matter
by MissJayne
Summary: Leroy Jethro Gibbs muses on a certain Ms M. Allison Hart.  Most definitely crack!fic and Jibbs.


_I almost thought this was trapped on my other computer - I've moved house and can't find anything. This is definitely crack!fic, as requested by Aly._

_Anyone interested in a new Jibbsfest, please visit the forum or PM me._

Hart of the Matter

Ah, lawyers. Can't live with them, can't shoot them and claim it was an accident.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a fan of lawyers. Everyone knew it. There was a persistent rumor that JAG lawyers would draw straws over who ended up with his cases, despite his high solve rate, mountains of evidence and a knack for getting confessions. He even devoted seven of his Rules to dealing with them.

And when said lawyers happened to be cunning, manipulative, cold-hearted, lying, annoying, aggravating, withholding vital information, evil creatures…

DiNozzo had once made the flippant remark (supposedly out of earshot) that Gibbs may have met his match in a certain Ms. M. Allison Hart. While he nursed a possible concussion for his suggestion, Agent Gibbs had decided to step up his game.

It had worked. Up to a point. And despite her profession violently disagreeing with him, he enjoyed having someone around to challenge him. Again. Someone with whom it didn't matter if he accidently pushed too far, someone who he didn't know well enough so every sparring match was an opportunity to learn more, someone who was happy to prod and poke endlessly and wanted him to snap back.

His team couldn't challenge him. Not in the way he needed anyway. Tony wanted to slack off, Ziva wanted to kill her partner, and McGee… Well, he just kept his head down and worked hard.

Jenny had definitely been a challenge, both back in the day and during her time as Director. In Europe, their relationship had been passionate, destructive at times, each pushing the other away while simultaneously drawing closer. Secrets, lies, her eventual betrayal. The fights back then had been in the knowledge that they would soon be working out the tension in a very different way.

When she had strolled back into his life as if she had never vanished in the dead of night with no warning, the tension had started to build up again. But with one broken heart already attributable to her, he had been unwilling to let her so close again. Never mind that it had taken him three years to figure out she not had stopped inhabiting his heart, that she was just as wounded as him. It had taken her death for him to realize exactly how much he cared.

A lot.

He had to admit that the mental sparring with her had been as challenging as ever. They had fought about everything, teased and taunted the other, flaunted any current relationships (although he had been slightly worried she would ask her pet Mossad assassin to make sure an accident befell Hollis towards the end), and tussled for the upper hand in both their working and personal relationships.

But Ms Hart was a different beast altogether.

Speak of the devil. His front door opened and closed quietly. There was only one person who was _that_ quiet – his colleagues naturally assumed he was permanently in the basement and made a racket. His raven-haired nemesis strolled into his kitchen as though she had lived there her entire life and snagged a beer from the fridge.

He observed her every move. Fluid, confident, in charge. Despite her only spending a limited time in his domain, no matter what DiNozzo thought, she seemed to know the place like the back of her hand.

It intrigued him; could _anything_ knock her poise? If he left her in a quiet room with Ziva, if he asked Ducky to let her observe an autopsy, if he screwed her senseless, would she remain unflappable? Did she ever let her guard down? Or would she forever remain cold and aloof, determined, in complete control of everything around her?

She did not offer him one of his own beers, instead settling on the other end of his couch and took her first sip, leaning back and exposing her long elegant neck. He forced himself to behave, despite his desire to watch her shatter. She could tempt him but he would stand firm. He would not give her the satisfaction of winning.

Life was all one big game. Sometimes you lost without warning; most of the time Gibbs was determined to win. And win he did. He had had two successful careers, one as a Marine and another as an Agent. Now he had a solve rate that turned most agents green with envy, an outstanding team and good people around him. He had risen from the ashes of his tragedy. He still carried the scars and would never forget them, but sometimes he felt guilty at enjoying his new life. Then again, he knew they would want him to be happy, would want him to succeed. And he was sure if they were still around, they would both be cheering him on.

Ms Hart was determined, most certainly, but he did not yet know where her fire came from. Anyone looking into his past could see his and she _knew_, but he preferred surprises. She would tell him in her own time, if she ever wanted him to know. It was the same with him, though he preferred silence. He could not bear the inevitable looks of pity.

Silence had fallen in his house. Nothing electrical existed in the upper realms of the house – the only television was tucked away in the basement – thus what most people would consider a familiar hum did not exist. The sounds from the street were detached and not only by distance.

Without warning, the raven-haired temptress stood up from the couch and turned to face him.

"Is there a reason you are refusing me access to my client?"

He knew what she was referring to; his current investigation involved a potential terrorist who had somehow ended up with his adversary as an attorney. Vance had ordered that the suspect was to be kept _incommunicado _until further notice. It wasn't exactly _his_ fault and she knew it.

Not that she would ever admit it.

And then the shot was fired.

He remained on the couch, hoping against all hope that whoever had just shot the attorney would not turn on him. His gun was on the other side of the room and he would never make it there in time to defend himself. The shooter stood in the shadows. Silence once again descended on the house.

When she stepped into the light, he felt his heart stop momentarily. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. Tucking the gun away, she checked her opponent was no longer amongst the living before she turned back to him.

He just stared.

"Hello Jethro."

It felt like another lifetime. For a second, he was back in MTAC, watching her rise from a chair at the front and reappearing in his life.

"Cat got your tongue?" she teased.

"Madame Director," he greeted her, still a little unsure about what he was seeing. And _who_.

"I have tickets to Paris leaving within the hour," she told him, not directly offering but he knew her well enough.

He questioned his sanity. His dead ex-partner, ex-boss, ex-_lover_ in front of him?

And then he shrugged, not particularly caring if this was a hallucination or reality. Time would tell and he had plenty of that.

"My bag's in the trunk."

He followed her out the door, taking the opportunity to check her out. His questions could wait. Right now, he was enjoying the view.


End file.
